Five Stages of Grief
by Aviator Dark
Summary: Something dug up from the past. Enjoy. Unfinished and starts off with a quick, moody author's note.


**Hm. I was digging through my documents and found this unfinished piece of disgraceful writing in my clutter and decided to post it. Never really planned on finishing it anyway. While I still have wifi that can actually access fanfiction, why not make the best of it and post another terrible story?**

**The Five Stages of Grief**

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_Stage One | _**Denial**

That was when his final breath escaped him.

And so his heart stopped beating, and all that I could hear was the constant beep that rang in my ears, haunting me as he disappeared from this world. Doctors rushed to him, trying to revive the only true friend I had, my significant other. But he was gone forever, and it was too late.

But I wasn't ready.

It all became a blur, when I could hear crying, grieving, and agonizing laments, and not all of them were mind. I teared up, and I was so weak that my feet could barely support me. A hand helped me up, taking me to a seat, but whoever it was ran off, probably to tend to other people who knew him better.

Singularity. I was alone, leaning on a white wall, sitting in a hospital waiting room. Posters hung, suspended in midair with colorful fonts and letters. Each had its own purpose. One was about heart attacks, how the brain worked, respiratory issue treatments, the digestion system, muscle tissue, and more. There was complete silence as I fought myself. And I thought about the well-known person that had been suffering earlier.

No one knew him better than me, though. Who else was able to forge a friendship with him? Oh, Rasa... I couldn't believe he was dead. No. I wouldn't let it be that he was gone. He was still there with me, right? Yeah, he wasn't there with me, but that didn't mean he was dead. He was still here in this world. He was still alive? Yes! He was somewhere out there, living and breathing, and all I needed to do was find him. He wasn't dead. He wasn't even sick in the first place.

After that, I began to talk to myself. I told myself, that he was okay. I told everyone that I was waiting for him, and then turned around before people could say otherwise. Because at that moment, I was certain that I told people the truth. He was coming back. He _had _to. The thought was like a barbed arrow buried deep into my mind. It clung to me as I left the hospital. Not long after, I forgot why I was at the hospital in the first place.

Madness. All that I could remember was madness. I began to hallucinate from then on, unable to remember how or why, but I was truly out of my mind. I began to do what I could. I visited his house every day. And then I would tidy his rooms, prepare dinner for him, wash his clothes, with the knowing that Rasa would come back. I did all that, and more.

I made a sandwich for him. I dusted the tables, I cleaned the bookshelves, I placed his laptop on his desk. I did so much for him, but he never came. Not to thank me. He never returned to his home, but I wasn't going to accept him as dead. The word itself, 'death,' never crossed my mind.

He was simply away and would return to see me, wasn't he? Definitely. And then it hit me that maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for me to pick him up. So I took his car, as his car keys were with me, and I drove to the headquarters where we always worked together, side by side.

Soon I was running down the halls, looking for him somewhere in the underground agency. Some of my other colleagues called for me and waved, but I didn't care. I looked for him in the morning, noon and night. I called his name. Every now and then, a yell of "Rasa!" could be heard, because I knew he had to be there somewhere.

Reality never occurred to me. Not until that one day, back in his house. I was going to do my chores as usual, maybe even bake some cookies for Rasa when he got back home. The house had never been so magnificent before; I had wanted him to know that I was waiting for him.

The first thing I did was clean up a cabinet that was slowly collecting dust. Inside it was a neat array of tiny bottles, each with medicine in them. And that was when I picked up one in particular. _Heart disease pills. _I checked again. It really was about heart disease, and at that moment I didn't know why.

But as I was vacuuming his carpeted floor, the thought occurred to me that the normal person wouldn't carry pills around. I tried to dismiss the thought, and then wiped his house windows, when I remembered him leaning on this very wall, clutching his chest, painfully reaching for my arms. His words echoed through me once more. _Call a doctor! Call a doctor!_

What crossed my mind first was a refusal to believe that he was gone. The desire to run from truth and make myself believe that he was still there for me. I shut myself away from the world, when I drove home. My friends visited me, knowing that I was grief-stricken, but I still pretended that I didn't know what they were talking about. I never said the word 'dead.' I never thought about a 'heart disease.' And whenever someone tried to tell me to face it, I built a mental wall that I thought was impenetrable.

Isolation came next, ever since that truth hit me. I would spend the rest of my days in my own house, sitting on my bed, alone and comforted.

Because in isolation, no one was able to tell me otherwise. There was no one to oppose. I could believe whatever I wanted to. If I wanted him alive, then that was it. I was no longer in madness, and I left his house alone to rot, but still I wouldn't accept that he was gone. I fought truth. I was engaged in a battle that I knew I couldn't win. Sometimes, the sane part of me would ask me, _Why do you struggle so? _And I would reply, _Because if there's hope, then he's still here for me. _

To be exact, it was called...

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_Stage Two _| **Anger**

Ever since then, I began to get frustrated. My temper got the best of me all day long, and I always had to hold down the urge to flip my desk around at work, only two weeks after I realized that he truly was dead. Wherever I went, I could feel my anger and unhappiness.

During work one day, I accidentally tripped over my own leg and ended up bumping into a colleague of mine. Papers flew around and the place was a complete and utter mess. And instead of me saying sorry, the colleague _himself _began to apologize to me repeatedly, begging to me while saying "Excuse me," while recollecting the sheets he dropped. That was when my fuse sparked.

"Just watch where you're going," I said, and showed him aside with my shoulder. Unfortunately, that shove was a little too strong, causing him to drop all his papers again, and this time he barreled into a desk and probably hurt more than his pride. "Ow, ow," he said while getting up. A bunch of other workers came over to lend a hand to him. Some of them glared at me but said nothing.

Me, on the other hand, walked away as if nothing had happened. I could hear whispers. Some of my fellow workers were probably talking about me, but I blocked them out. I went back to my own desk and continued to work, placing my hands on the keyboard. I was supposed to be doing more research for DCI, but with Rasa gone the entire process was slowed down. I was supposed to step up, but j wasn't ready yet. A backup colleague was in charge by now, but everyone would expect me to take over. It placed extra weight on me as I was still struggling. At that time, my mind was focused on nothing much, just a silent rage that Rasa was gone and that there was no way out of it.

At home, too, I was feeling bad. Emilia, one of my closest friends, called me to see if I was okay. She had originally planned to come over, but she probably heard about the incident at work. Now that I look back, I realize that I couldn't blame her, but at that very moment, I did. I blamed everyone for everything that happened. I was angry at the doctor, my friends, my family, and everyone else I came across. Rasa's heart disease wasn't his fault, and everyone else should be sorry.

The days that followed were uneventful to me. I had no intention of taking Rasa's place at DCI, and that caused the intelligence to fall into chaos, and I was in the middle of it, despite the fact that I didn't care at all. The world was dull and I didn't feel a need to get things in order. And I never even danced anymore. There was no need to.

Could he hear me? I began to slip into misery, but my anger was still burning. Each day went by, and I had to hold myself together. There was a constant desire for me to destroy certain things. The hospital, for instance. And whoever had diagnosed Rasa. I felt like it was their fault, even though deep down I knew that it was unavoidable.

_Strangle him... _My thoughts soon sank into murderous drams. I had never felt like that before. The need to break something apart, to avenge someone who didn't need my troubles. The need to raze, obliterate, and annihilate. I made sure that I was well away from the hospital from then on. I felt like the doctor needed to pay, but I didn't do anything about it. Either way, I was still unhappy, but that didn't mean I was going to sink into a pit of sadness just yet.

One couldn't imagine how much fury could be confined in a heart. For when a person thinks of a beloved someone just vanishing away like mist, and feels like others are responsible, one no longer have a sense of what's right or what's wrong. All there is to think about is who caused the pain and suffering. Once that person finds a target to blast that anger upon, they feel like they'll feel complete. But that isn't true. Afterwards, emptiness follows.

Emptiness. One is thrown into a new world, a tranquility, where they become alone. A loss is felt, a loss that was supposed to be filled once this person gets their revenge. But it is not true. Instead, this person feels as if they have finished a meaningless task.

Another day and my fury was beginning to wear off, but it was still there, remnants of an explosion. Once in a while I could still snap at someone. Behind my back, I was certain that everyone talked about me. But what did they know? I lost my best friend, my partner, my love, even. They wouldn't understand what I've been through. They act as if they know how I feel, but they don't.

I began to experience hatred flowing through me. It was a pointless thing, like I hated everything for no particular reason. I just... did. Because I couldn't bring myself to believe that Rasa died and that no one was responsible. There had to be some sort of reason that caused his death. That was fixed in my mind and I planned not to let go of it. However, of course, the infuriating decisions that people make are often put out, as these choices are very often found unreasonable. Why strangle the doctor who tried his best to help Rasa? Why kill his parents when they, too, loved their son so dearly? Why wish for a heart attack to be inflicted upon the world, when they in turn feel the grief that was once pinpointed on me?

And with that, the wish dissolved, the fire dying as water was splashed, and with it disappeared the will to take revenge. With this, the feeling of it was gone. The feeling of...

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_Stage Three _| **Bargaining**

After the anger had subsided, I felt something else. This time, hoards of thoughts charged at me. They weren't very fierce thoughts, mind you, especially when compared to the previous ones. These were more of... wistfully awaiting. I entered the stage when one was ready to sacrifice anything in order to get their beloved back. In this case, it was Rasa.

My mind was focused on him. I couldn't stop thinking, was it all really my fault? _If only I had called a doctor sooner... if only he hadn't the disease... if only I had always been there for him. _I didn't know it back then, but it was as if I was making a deal with Death itself. No, it wasn't the give-him-back sort of deal, it was more complicated than that. It was as if Death was an actual being, and that I was trying to communicate with it.

Ever since then, I was trapped and shielded again from reality, but it was no longer denial that held me. This time, it was a sea of _what if _and _if only _situations that I was drowning in. _I promise that if you bring him back, I'll devote my life to him. Just give me one more chance... _

That little voice in me, however, was more sensible. _Why am I struggling so hard? He's not coming back, whatever happens. He's gone and I can't do anything about it. I'll have to move on without him... but how? I know he's dead, and yet... I never wanted this. I don't want it to be true. Just... give me some time to sort things out._

With that I began fighting myself. My emotions were tied up in knots, heartstrings twisted... I had no idea what to think. All I could focus on was the pain and the loss. _I have all the time in the world, but I can't use it to bring Rasa back. All I can do is... no. I can't do anything about it. _And then I sat back on my chair at home, leaning against it, sighing. My eyes were tear-filled again, but I couldn't bring myself to wipe them away. Everything was blurry; not only my eyesight, but also my feelings. I was chasing down a daydream that would never come true. Why did he have to die?

I reached a point where I needed some time with someone else. But who was I supposed to confide in? I didn't actually have any friends outside work. Rasa was my only companion. What about my dancers? No, they wouldn't understand what I was going through. Each and every one of them were having a perfect life. They all had someone to care about, and someone who cared about them. Rasa's death would have done nothing more than shake them off for a bit. They had arrived at his funeral, paid their last respects, and then what? The dead were forgotten.

Rasa and I, we saw eye to eye. No one else knew what we felt towards each other. I had wanted to get to know him better. Get him to know me better, too. But fate had other plans, and he went on ahead without me. We were two pillars, supporting DCI. Without him, the intelligence fell into confusion. I couldn't get up without him, because the weight crushed me, too. I was far weaker without him.

To strengthen my point, I had gone mad. My sanity was weak, and so was I. What was I thinking? I couldn't be leader of DCI. Nor would it feel right if I hired someone else in Rasa's place. It would be like I was replacing him. And that was the worse bargain I could do.

Why hadn't he told me any earlier about that heart disease he had? One day he came to me asking to drive him to the doctor. Before then, I never knew that he was ailing. He pushed himself too hard, and as a result, he died too soon. I couldn't even remember his last words. On his deathbed he had said something, but I couldn't remember it. He still left me. What could a handful of words do? They couldn't change what I felt.

He was a fool. Rasa thought he could handle everything on his own. In reality he was too wretched to admit that he was slowly dying as every second passed by, his heart being consumed by a cursed sickness that he could postpone but couldn't stop. Death had been following him for years. Stalking him, and eventually pouncing on him. Death consumed Rasa and left me waiting for my own turn.

Oh, Rasa... He was so... stupid. What possessed him and convinced him that keeping his disease a secret would do him any good? It just made things worse. Rasa, press rewind... take both of us back to when we started. Pull the switch and take us to a place where we could start over. This game ended badly and you need to restart. We could have done better. Take my hand, send us somewhere else, a ace to ourselves, a place where no one would find us. A place where no disease would reach us.

A place where we could build our palace. A place where you'd be safe, a place where Death was an outlaw and Love was our friend. Somewhere to show you that we could have been wonderful together. A place where you'd never leave me. A utopian paradise.

Come, take me, carry me further. We'll rebuild our lives and fly without wings. I'll be with you, until the Time Lord ends us both. We will end someday, but we'll end happily. I can't say goodbye. It's the most difficult farewell.

No more fighting. No more battles. No more deaths. No more worries. We don't want any of those. We'll be okay. As long as we're together, anything — _anything at all _— can happen. No more pain, no more...

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_Stage Four _|** Depression**

I missed Rasa dearly.

However, the more I missed him, the more miserable I became. I would lock myself up for hours a day, and at night I would refuse to go outside. For about a week I went on like this. I lost weight. I wouldn't eat. Each day went past and all I felt was utter loneliness.

Rasa was gone and there was no use wishing for him to come back. Even if I threw a thousand coins into a wishing well, he wouldn't return. He was the motive behind my actions, the truth behind my lies, the love behind my hate, the smile behind my tears. I could dream of him all day long, but what difference would it make?

A sea of despair swallowed the sun and I was left to drown in it. Nightmares and dreams clashed, fire and ice collided, love and hate crashed, joy and dejection combined, creating that wonderful blur made of darkness and light, and for now I was trapped in the shadows.

The other DCI dancers tried to visit me, but I wouldn't answer the door. I could hear them whispering about how I needed some more time or had to get used to things, but none of their words could encourage me to face this cruel world that took Rasa away from me. Why should I fight it?

Why was Rasa gone, or where he went, no longer mattered to me. The point was that he left me, either by choice or force, and that I wouldn't be able to meet him for a long time. We would be separated for who knows how long, and guilt pulled me further away from him.

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**Don't ask me how it ends, because I don't know. If you hear a sound like a balloon losing air, it's the sound of my self-esteem deflating. I really shouldn't apologize, but still, sorry if I sound anything like rough or snappy, I'm in a bad mood at the moment. A review or two would be okay since you may see me a bit once in a while. Rising from the grave for a week or so, y'know?**


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